Life in Death
by Enlee
Summary: House and Wilson begin their new life, and pay someone a surprise visit. Oneshot. Please Read & Review!


_A/N: Another weird mood hit me. This is a sequel to _The Rest of Forever

* * *

The night was overcast, no silver moonlight to guide their way. Not that they needed it. They were walking silently through the woodsy back roads, their footsteps not making the slightest sound. Yet every whisper, scent and voice registered in their newly heightened senses to. At first House was almost overloaded the point where he were nearly drowning in them, holding his head as if blocking out a terrible noise. It _was_ terrible at first, Wilson remembered. All the noise crashed together like a million freight trains racing by. Then he told his friend to focus on one thing at a time. It worked, and House calmed down for the moment and was able to enjoy some of the sights of the first night of his new life. 

The fire was back in House's eyes. They were ablaze with roaring blue flames as he took everything in, a brand new world. Wilson stood back and gave his friend some room to move.

The night belonged to them now. It was theirs for the taking, whatever they wanted when they wanted it. No more pain, fear, anguish to deal with. Almost like being a God. Almost like being God himself. The thought sent a tiny shiver up Wilson's spine.

"What do you think?" Wilson asked with a grin. "Can you answer that question now, Greg?"

House turned to the brown-eyed man, a child-like wonderment still filled his face. It made Wilson's grin stretch even wider.

"Extraordinary," was his reply. "I don't think I know enough words to really describe what I'm experiencing..."

"You have all the time in world," Wilson reminded him. "I'm sure you'll learn some new words."

House laughed softy, and there was an undercurrent of anxiety in it. His eyes twitched nervously. His senses were threatening to overload again. Wilson wrapped an arm around his friend's shoulder and placed a soft kiss on his forehead. He would always be there to offer comfort when House needed it.

"Careful, Greg, careful. You can't take in everything at once, so don't try. One thing at a time, remember?"

The blue-eyed man let out a shaky breath and nodded his head.

"How does your leg feel?"

"It doesn't hurt." It felt weird to not be in excruciating pain, to not have a cane to grip and lean on. He was still getting used to the idea. Before House left his apartment he had broken all his canes over his knee. His right knee.

"Good. Concentrate on that," Wilson said.

"I'm hungry, Jimmy."

"Yeah, me too. Let's get a quick bite before bedtime. The sun will be up in about ninety minutes."

"Where are we sleeping?" Visions of coffins and graveyards danced their way through House's head.

"A nice quiet place. Don't worry about it," Wilson reassured him.

The woods were full of nocturnal animals. House was still feeling a bit disoriented, the rustling was coming from all directions. He sat quietly under a tree trying to reorient himself while Wilson snacked on a few raccoons. The smell of blood, the sweet coppery scent, soon drifted through the woods and became stronger the brown-eyed man approached. He held out his wrist, and House took it without a word and bit into it. The rush of blood down his throat was exquisite. It was so good, so very good, and was gone all too soon when Wilson wrenched his arm away.

"Tomorrow we'll have a real meal," Wilson said, watching with faint interest as his wrist healed before his eyes. "Come on, we need to get going."

House still looked uneasy. "Are you sure we'll be safe?"

"We'll be fine. Follow me."

Wilson took off into the woods and House followed, slowly but surely realizing that they were picking up speed, that everything was whipping by in a blur. His right leg took everything as he vaulted over fallen trees and ducked under low-hanging branches. It all threatened to overtake him until he focused on Wilson and only Wilson. Stepped where he stepped. Turned where he turned. The first smudges of light broke through the clouds in the eastern sky.

A chainlink fence separated the rest of the woods from a backyard. An empty swing set and jungle gym stood off to one side. The split-level house was as dark as the night surrounding it. No sounds came from it. Nobody was home.

"The Torrance's live here," Wilson explained. "They left this morning for a vacation to visit Disney World."

"How do you know that?"

"I listened to them talking about it from back here before I went to your apartment. They were up half the night making last minute arrangements. They'll be gone for two weeks. The little girls, Melissa and Haley, were so excited. They can't wait to meet Cinderella and Snow White."

"I'm sure they won't leave until they do."

"Me neither."

They listened again, this time at the other houses. The nearest neighbor was at least one hundred yards away. No footsteps, no talking. No insomniacs in this neighborhood. Nobody was awake yet.

"They took the dog to some kind of kennel," Wilson said as they leaped the fence and approached the empty house. "And they don't have a burglar alarm. Lucky us. We'll crash here for the next few days until I can find us someplace that's unoccupied."

"What if they come back early?"

The oncologist gave his friend a sharp look. "They're not. But if they do, we'll deal with it."

"I know," House said, and walked up to the back door.

One swift kick from Wilson forced the door open, thankfully without any visible damage. It closed again and remained that way, much to their relief.

A brief inspection of the house brought them to a closet on the lower level. It was under the stairs, a bit musty and other than some boxes of Halloween and Christmas decorations and a vacuum, it was surprisingly empty. House guessed that particular closet was where the family stored their suitcases.

"No windows. No worries," Wilson remarked with a smile.

Wilson did some rearranging of the contents while House went to find some pillows and blankets. He found what he what looking for in the upstairs linen closet. Passing by one of the girls' rooms, he glanced at the window and noticed the breaking clouds. Orange and pink streaks painted themselves among the patches of blue sky. Duskiness was taking over the pitch blackness. Night was turning into morning. He turned from the window and ran back downstairs.

They settled safely in the cozy little improvised den they built into the back of the dark closet, the boxes rearranged to hide them from view in case someone should open the door.

The sun was up.

House relaxed in the arms of his best friend. He was tired, but also honestly curious and had to ask: "No coffins?"

"Not yet," Wilson answered, and hugged his friend closer. Just the two of them. Always and forever. It was wonderful.

"Jimmy?"

"Yes?"

"You gave me this gift...who gave it to you?"

The oncologist chuckled and replied, "You'll find out."

House didn't really care one way or the other, but didn't voice that thought aloud. "Tomorrow...I'll be better. I'll be ready tomorrow," he muttered.

"I'm sure you will. I have a surprise for you tomorrow."

"Really? What is it?"

"It's a surprise. I don't want to ruin it. Now go to sleep."

* * *

After Wilson promised to handle the other occupant of the house if it were to be required, House kicked in the door, making a ton of racket. It should be enough to wake up everyone inside, or at least wake up someone who habitually looked and listened for evidence of a crime. Good. That's exactly what he wanted. 

The oncologist relaxed on the couch while the diagnostician stood in the middle of the living room, waiting patiently. He didn't have to wait more than ten seconds before the sound of a door creaked open and footsteps padded down the hall.

A voice said, "Don't move or I'll blow your fucking head off."

The lights switched on. Detective Michael Tritter edged his way into the room, a revolver held out in front of him. His eyes went wide as he recognized his visitors.

"Good God." Tritter gaped as his gaze locked onto House. "Breaking into a cop's house. What the hell are you on now?"

"It's not Vicodin. I can tell you that," House answered coolly, faintly amused at what he was now addicted to.

"What are you doing here, House?"

"Getting ready for a taste of revenge."

"Revenge? That's real funny. Absolutely hilarious. Your friends may have saved your sorry ass from the drug charges, but you're not getting out of this." The detective grinned smugly. House fought back the urge to smash his face in. Tritter turned his attention to the man on his couch. "And _you_. Still hanging around with this drug addict loser, helping him break into _my_ home. I thought you were better than this, Dr. Wilson."

Wilson gave the detective an icy stare. "Just goes to show that you don't know a goddamn thing, Tritter."

"Is that so? Well, I know that two supposedly well regarded doctors are going to do some time for breaking and entering. Let's see your friends bail your ass out of this." He waved his gun back and forth at the doctors, before pointing it back at House. "You, get over there and have a seat with your friend."

House blinked at Tritter and simply replied, "No."

"I'm not asking you, I'm telling you. Sit your ass down. Now."

"No."

Tritter looked over at the couch. "Why don't you talk some sense into your fellow doctor here. Tell him to sit down."

The oncologist grinned wickedly. "Tell him yourself, Detective."

The cop let out an exasperated grunt. "Jesus Christ, what the fuck is wrong with the two of you? Have you been dipping into his stash, Dr. Wilson? I sure as hell hope you both think this is all worth going to jail for." He looked back over at House with a furrowed brow. "Put your cane out where I can see it."

"I don't need a cane anymore," House said.

"Where's your cane, House?"

"I just told you that I don't have one."

"Really? What happened? Did that crippled leg of yours just magically heal?"

"Yes." He took two steps toward the detective to prove it.

"I told you this would be a nice surprise, Greg." Wilson leaned back into the cushions, enjoying the show.

"It is, Jimmy. Thank you."

"You're welcome. You want him, he's all yours."

The gun leveled at House's chest. "Fucking addict. Don't you take another step," Tritter said, the threat in his voice was loud and clear.

House raised an eyebrow at his nemesis. "Or what?"

"I'll shoot you, House."

"Shoot an unarmed man? How noble of you. Are you going to shoot Jimmy, too?"

"I will if I have to. You two broke into a cop's house. You both deserve to be shot."

"So shoot me," House dared. "I've been shot before. Like you said, I deserve it. Shoot me."

"So help me, House," Tritter said evenly, "I'll do it. Just go over there and sit down."

The doctor took another step forward.

The detective cocked back the hammer of his gun. "Last warning."

"Go ahead and shoot me, Tritter. You know you want to, you vindictive son-of-a-bitch."

One more step forward, and Tritter fired the gun, the bullet slamming House squarely in the chest.

It was a peculiar sensation, like being slapped by a giant hand. He expected the wind to be knocked out of him and the floor and ceiling to change places, but much to his surprise, and to Tritter's, he remained upright, swaying only slightly at the blow. A sticky, warm wetness trickled down to his waistband. House looked down to see a red stain blossom across the front of his shirt.

A low, stuttering "_Oh G-God_"was all the detective could gasp before he found himself on his knees, his wrist cracking under a crushing iron grip. The gun fell from his now useless hand and clattered to the hardwood floor. It was out of his reach. The crushing grip beared down harder. Tritter couldn't move. Sweat poured down his face, dripping and pooling at House's feet, mixing with the puddle of blood from what should have been a fatal, or at least life-threatening gunshot wound. The doctor stood tall and continued to break Tritter's wrist.

"_Michael_?"

Soft footsteps, then a frizzy-haired woman peaked out from the hallway, her droopy eyes filled with alarm. A huge, ratty royal blue bathrobe hung from her petite frame. Tritter's bathrobe, she swam in it.

"Michael, was that a shot–"

"_Kelly_!" Tritter wheezed weakly, barely able to breathe before a hand clamped over his mouth.

Wilson blocked her path. House hadn't seen him move from the couch.

"Who are you?" the woman demanded, looking up the stranger looming over her in the doorway. "Where's Michael?"

"He's fine," Wilson lied as the cop continued his futile struggle just out of her line of sight. "Go back to bed."

"But–"

"It's all right, Kelly." He stared deep into her scared blue eyes, willing her to relax, everything would be okay in the morning. There was no absolutely reason to punish her for choosing the wrong place at the wrong time to spend the night, and he wasn't going to. He carefully reached up and gently swiped a thumb across her cheek, feeling the fear leave her and a sweet calmness replace it. "There's nothing to worry about," he said soothingly, giving her a reassuring smile as her own hand reached up to touch his. "Everything is going to be fine."

"I heard a shot...did someone...?"

"No, you didn't hear a shot. You didn't see anything and you didn't hear anything."

"I didn't?" A flicker of confusion rippled across her features. She couldn't look away from the stranger's eyes and didn't want to. She hung on his every word and as long as she listened to what the stranger was saying it was all going to be okay.

"That's right, honey. Look at you, you're so tired."

She frowned and murmured, "I'm tired."

"Go back to bed, Kelly."

"Back...back to bed..."

"Go back to bed and close the door, honey. Go on, now."

"Okay...okay..." Her voice was barely a whisper as she turned and walked back to the bedroom, the ugly blue bathrobe dragging along the floor. She gave Wilson a tiny smile as she closed the door.

The brown-eyed man turned his attention back to the other two. "She won't remember a thing," he said with more than a hint of satisfaction as leaned into the doorway to watch the rest of the show.

"Unlike you," House growled into Tritter's ear, roughly grabbing handful of his hair and yanking backward. The anguished cry that produced was as beautiful as any piece of classical music he played on his piano. "I want you to remember everything you did to me, everything you did to Jimmy, everything you did to my crew, everything you did to Cuddy, everything I've done to you in the last few minutes and everything I'm going to do to you in the next few minutes."

The detective was still struggling despite the agony of his crushed wrist. He gritted his teeth and gasped, "_What the hell are you_?"

"I'm the monster under the bed, the one that you never believed existed. But tonight I reached out and grabbed your ankle when you weren't looking, didn't I? You can't close your eyes and make me go away."

"Dear God, this isn't happening..."

"Oh, it's happening, all right."

"_Nnnoooo_..."

"Revenge is a dish best served cold, isn't it, Tritter?" House could see pulse pounding in the other man's throat. He could smell the blood just below the surface. All that delicious blood. "Tow a few cars, freeze a few accounts. Child's play, but I shouldn't have expected anything less from a small time cop on a power trip. You have no idea what revenge is. Too bad you'll never know just how good it really _tastes_."

His teeth sank easily into Tritter's neck, breaking easily into the soft tissue and letting the flood of red pour into his mouth and down his throat. He was only vaguely aware as warmth of it all began to spread through his body, and the detective's struggles became weaker and weaker. With each mouthful he wanted more. It went down better than any glass of scotch, a high better than a hundred Vicodin.

Wilson watched quietly as House drank his fill. His eyes blazing with his own hunger and unable to resist anymore, he walked over and took Tritter's broken wrist. The pulse in it was dwindling. He tore it open without a second thought.

The room swam back into focus. A clock ticked. Tritter's body was sprawled on the floor, drained white. House and Wilson were sitting on the couch, though he couldn't recall getting up and walking over to it. The scent of blood still hung heavily in the room. Every single nerve in House's body tingled with electric sparks. He couldn't remember a time he felt this good, this alive, because there was never a time he felt like this. He felt ready to take on anything, and probably could. There was more life for him in death. He laughed at the thought.

"We got what we wanted," Wilson said. "We should get out of here."

They got up and walked by Tritter's lifeless form on the way to the bathroom without a glance back.

The aftermath was washed down the sink, and the towels bearing fresh dark stains were hung neatly back on the rack.

House started towards the back door, but Wilson suddenly pivoted the other way, towards the bedroom. He paused, then opened the door.

Inside, Kelly was sleeping soundly. The bathrobe hung on the bedpost.

"She deserves better than him," House said flatly, looking at the woman over his friend's shoulder.

Wilson didn't respond. He closed the bedroom door.

–The End.


End file.
